Intersection
by Tissaia de Vries
Summary: After the events in "Ability" Olivia Dunham finds herself in front of a new case: ten bodies have been found in LA, dead without any sign of violence. Her investigation will lead her and her team to the CIA and some project called Intersect...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of _Fringe_ and _Chuck_, their universes, characters and general coolness. I'm not making any profit from this, so please, don't sue me.

**Author's Note:** I'm writing this fic assuming you know _Fringe_ and _Chuck_ and you have watched the first one of _Fringe_ and the entire second season of _Chuck_ at least. As a basic chronology, I'll say that the story is set between episodes 1X14 ("Ability") and 1X15 ("Inner Child") of _Fringe_ and around, in the middle of episode 2X15 ("Chuck Vs. the Beefcake") of _Chuck_ (at least in the first chapters.)

Yes, I'm very aware I would benefit from the help of a beta reader. What can I say, I have no friends. Feedback is _much_ appreciated.

* * *

><p>Olivia rubbed the soft flesh of her wrist with her thumb. The usually visible veins disappeared under the pressure to reappear a hundredth of a second later.<p>

She wondered if the Cortexiphan ran through them once. That would explain many things. And open new questions. Had she been a guinea pig? And if she had, how much of her personality did she _owe_ to the tests? Were her mental abilities —the ones David Robert Jones talked about— part of it? Did she really switch off those lights on the panel?

She did tell Peter that she thought it was all planned by Jones, that it was a mind trick, but a deep part of her, ingrained in her soul, gnawed at her fears. Even the always skeptical Peter believed it to be true. Peter, who had stayed at her side when a bomb was about to explode and there was no rational way to defuse it. Peter, whose haunted eyes after the lights turned off she couldn't forget. As if she needed more things to prevent her from sleeping.

She sighed. It caught Charlie's attention on the table next to hers. He didn't say anything, just sent her a reassuring stare and a small smile. She appreciated it. They weren't talky by nature, and they never needed many words between them to understand each other. She realized, however, that she hadn't talked in more than two hours and she opened her mouth just to ask him how he was doing with his paperwork.

The willowy form of Broyles on the office's entrance cut her try.

He did a gesture with his index and middle fingers for her to come. He seemed somber. But of course, he always seemed so. He had the strange quality of turning every place he was in the waiting room of an Oncology office.

"The chief calls us," Olivia told Charlie.

He glanced backwards, then at the papers on his desk. "You go, I have to finish this."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure you won't miss me."

"You just want me to be the first to see the pictures of this case, so if they're too shocking you can avoid them."

He smirked. "Photos of kids lying down on their own brain pudding isn't something that will suit my stomach after breakfast."

"Chicken."

"I'm your superior, a little of respect," he said, feigning offense.

She cracked an impish smile and left before he could pull rank on her again.

Broyles was in his usual spot in his office, facing the big window that gave onto his subordinates, like an ibis. When she entered he didn't move.

"Did you want to see me, sir?" she asked to crash the silence.

"Yes, but first of all..." He studied her with attention. "Are you OK?"

"Yes... sir."

"After what happened with Jones... I wanted to make sure you weren't haunted by him."

She almost smiled for his care. "Don't worry, sir. I'm fine and ready for the work."

He nodded, just once. Then he walked towards his desk, opened a file and placed it on the table so she could see the content.

Pictures of what looked like several body bags, half buried on the soil.

"A common grave?" she asked.

"Possibly. A man found them two days ago while he was running at the outskirts of L.A. Apparently one of the corpses had been exhumed. His bag opened."

"Do we suspect retaliation from a gang?"

Broyle's stare told her that she wouldn't be there if it was so simple. "How did they exactly die?"

"We don't know. There are no traces of wounds or any kind of violence inflicted to their bodies."

"Venom?"

"No traces. And," he stressed his words pointing at the pictures with his index finger, "all their organs are in perfect shape. Healthy. They simply... Stopped."

"I'll ask for the bodies to be sent to Walter's laboratory."

"No need, I already ordered it. They'll be there as soon as possible."

Olivia nodded. "Then I'll get to work and gather more information about the victims."

Broyles extended his hand toward her. "Olivia, there is something more."

She tensed and felt her stomach clench. She shut up and waited.

"Among the corpses we've identified a CIA agent. On sick leave."

She relaxed, that wasn't anything she feared.

Broyles took out one picture from the pile of photographs and showed it to her. A close caption of a man's face. Middle aged, with light, short hair combed sideways. Even if he was pale and he had been dead for more than a couple of days, she could sense he had been a rosy-cheeked person. Probably given to smiling.

"His name was Bradley White," Broyles informed. "It was his bag the one that was open. He was born and raised in Boston."

"What was he doing in L.A.? What does the CIA say?"

"Nothing. We've asked them, but we haven't received any answer yet."

Olivia snorted. "Typical. Do we know what was his original post, at least?"

"A low CIA analyst, nobody important."

"That we know."

Broyles cracked a sour grin. "That we know."

Olivia took the picture in her hands. "I'll take Peter and talk with his family, see what they can tell me."

* * *

><p>Bradley White's family consisted of his mom, Emily, a widow who lived in a peaceful suburb, in a cream colored house. She was a petite old lady with purple hair that offered them tea just after Olivia identified herself as FBI and before she could say anything else. Peter accepted for the both of them.<p>

"Milk?" Emily asked, bringing a creamer closer to Olivia's cup.

"No, thank you." Olivia tried to focus. "Mrs. White-"

"And you, young man?"

Peter smiled as he was wandering around the living room. "Yes, please."

Olivia tried again. "Mrs. White, we're here because we wanted to talk about... Your son, Bradley."

Emily left the creamer on the table and looked at Olivia with shining eyes. "Did you find his corpse?"

"Excuse me?" Olivia managed to say.

"His corpse... That's why you're here, aren't you?"

"You knew he was dead?" Broyles didn't tell her anything about that.

"Yes, the CIA sent me a letter."

Olivia looked at Peter out of the corner of her eye. He glanced back from his post, next to the vitrine with porcelain figurines.

"The CIA?" Olivia tried to focus. "Won't you have that letter, by any chance?"

"Yes, yes." She reached for her apron with shaking hands. "I took it when I was preparing the tea. Because you were of the FBI and I thought..." Her voice faded. "I shouldn't have talked about it, should I? Brad used to tell me that I couldn't keep a secret..."

Olivia sent her what she expected was a comforting smile when she took the sheet of paper. "It's all right."

It wasn't from the CIA exactly, but from the DNI's office. They were nice enough to personally inform her about the dead of Bradley in an "unfortunate accident" one week _before_ his corpse was found, according to the date. She could feel Peter behind her, looking over her shoulder. She could even sense him frown.

Olivia folded the letter again, carefully. "Did you receive it by mail?"

"Oh, no, an agent handed it to me." Emily caressed the piece of paper that Olivia gave back as if it was a wounded bird. "He was very nice."

"Did you know him?"

"No, I never saw him before. Not that I know much about Brad's work, of course." Her mouth contracted in a restrained grimace and she blinked away tears.

"His work was important. I'm sure he didn't want to worry you," Peter said and cracked a soft smile that soothed her immediately.

That's why Olivia had brought Peter and not Charlie, because Peter had a special knack to be likeable to women, even the old ones.

He sat down next to Emily, holding a silver framed picture of Bradley and her. As Olivia had guessed, Bradley had been a smiling rosy-cheeked man. He needed to loose some weight or buy new clothes, if his bulging belly over the belt, accentuated by the tight polo shirt, was any indication.

"He seems like a nice guy," Peter said.

"Oh, yes. He has-" Emily gulped. "_Had_ a very big heart, he always wanted to help others. Since he was a little boy." Emily lowered her gaze and bit her lower lip. After an entire minute, she looked at Olivia, determination in her light eyes. "Did you find him?"

Whatever had happened and whoever was involved in it, there was no need to hide that information. "Yes, we had."

"Can I see him?"

Olivia hesitated. "No, for now. We need to determine the cause of dead." She hoped this wasn't going to be another case where the body was put in quarantine, teared to pieces or beheaded because Walter wanted to perform one of his experiments. Better to change of subject. "Mrs. White, what is the last thing you knew from your son?"

"That he was in L.A., working." She looked upwards, as if she was making memory. "He was living in some housing development called... Meadow's Branch, I think."

"Was he living alone?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"Did he mention any strange thing? Anything that was worrying him?"

She shook her head. "No... But why do you ask? I thought it was an accident."

"Routine," Olivia lied. "We just want to make sure."

The disquieting feeling of remorse didn't leave Olivia for the rest of the interview and when she and Peter said goodbye to Emily, Olivia had to make a conscious effort to hold her gaze.

Keeping secrets was part of her job and she had dealt with it. She had done it for a long time, sometimes in her professional life, sometimes in the personal one. The problem was that since she entered into the Fringe division, the more she kept secrets from others, the more she disclosed secrets in herself. Secrets that she didn't like and that she speculated would be better to leave untouched.

After she and Peter had left Mrs. White's house and they got into the car, she was quiet for a long time, without starting the engine. Peter didn't break the silence. He just stared at her, as one contemplates a sparrow pecking a few steps ahead and doesn't want to frighten it.

Olivia fidgeted. Charlie's silences soothed her, Peter's made her feel like looking at herself in the mirror to see if she had grown a second head.

"The CIA is definitively involved," she murmured.

"The letter could be false."

"No. I'm convinced it's legitimate." She smiled a humorless smile. "At least the origin."

"The Director of National Intelligence." Peter shook his head, rather incredulously. "Wouldn't Broyles have been informed about this? You said he asked the CIA."

"There is still lack of communication among agencies in certain areas. Too many people playing the Lone Ranger for too long, I guess. The reason why we identified Bradley White was because he was in our database, he worked as a consultant for some time." Olivia watched a flock of birds flutter around in the sky. "And there are others that have been identified but we don't know if they worked for the CIA. Everything is too cloudy and I'm not sure if I know where to look first."

A light-bulb turned on inside Olivia's head. She stretched towards the back seat and took out the file that was in her bag. "Let me search for something..."

"I'm not stopping you." Peter stared at her in silence as she made her way through the papers. "What are you looking for?" he asked at last.

"Mrs. White said that her son's last residence was at Meadow's Branch, a suburban cul-de-sac. I want to check if... yes, the victims that have been identified had the same last residence."

"They lived in the same place? All of them?"

Olivia checked the last names on the list. "Yep."

"And all of them are dead?" His voice's tone was tinged with apprehension.

"That's what it seems."

"What is it, built on an Indian burial ground?"

"I don't know. I haven't checked anything about it yet."

"Well, after what happened it probably crashed."

Olivia dialled to speak.

"And now?" Peter asked.

Olivia lifted her index finger to silence him.

"_Homeland Security,"_ a female voice on the other side of the phone answered.

"Yes, hello, this is agent Dunham, 71862276. I would like to find the names of all the people that have lived in a suburban area called Meadow's Branch, in Los Angeles city."

"_Wait a moment, please."_

Olivia drummed her fingers against the wheel as she heard the woman key her computer. She had time to play a cover version of _White Room_ by Cream. Walter would be proud of her.

"_Agent Dunham?"_

"Yes."

"_I found the information. Do you want me to send it to your mail?"_

"Yes, please."

"_It's done. Something more?"_

"No, thank you. Have a good day."

"_You too, agent."_

Olivia hung up, which Peter used to open his mouth. "Do you think you will be able to identify the victims faster with that list?"

"And maybe find some survivor." She opened the mail she had received and scrolled down through the list. "Hmmm... This is interesting. Mrs. White told us her son was alone, but he's listed here with his _wife_."

"Mrs. White won't be happy to hear that her son didn't invite her to the wedding."

Olivia sent him a "that's not funny" glare in between her reading. "Oh, wait. Somebody's here... Philip Yeager."

"Why is he special?"

"There is a note that says he left two weeks before the rest of them disappeared. Weird." She dialed again. "Charlie."

"_Hey, Liv. Everything's OK?"_

"Yes, I want you to check something."

"_Shoot."_

"Find me information about Philip Yeager, last residence known Meadow's Branch, L.A."

"_Let's see. Philip Yeager... Philip Yeager... Here. Philip Yeager, age 39, born in Denver."_

"Is he alive?"

"_As far as this goes, yes... Oh, crap."_

"What?"

"_Alive, but if you wanted to ask him something, forget it."_

"Why?"

"_He's in a mental institution. The Grayson Psychiatric Hospital."_

Olivia fell into complete silence. She even stopped breathing.

"Olivia?"

"_Liv?"_

"What hospital did you say?" she managed to ask.

"_The Grayson Psychiatric Hospital."_

"In L.A."

"Yes." Charlie's answer had been slow and soft, as if he wasn't sure how it was going to be received.

"OK, thanks, Charlie." She hung up without waiting for his reply.

Olivia kept very still, trying to ease the sudden tightness in her stomach. She knew that place, one of his instructors told her about it once, almost like parents tell children about the sandman.

"I get from your silence that what he just told you are bad news," Peter guessed.

She exhaled very slowly. "Yeager is alive. Unfortunately for us, he's in the Grayson Psychiatric Hospital."

Peter arched a brow. "In an asylum. Like Walter."

"Yes, but what it makes it worse is that the Grayson Psychiatric Hospital is a CIA psychiatric facility for agents who have... cracked under the stress of their jobs."

"You're kid-" A smile was wagering in Peter's lips but it soon disappeared under her severe stare. "You're not kidding."

Olivia grabbed the wheel with both hands so tightly that her knuckles went white. More than usual.

"So, let's see..." Peter said in the characteristic high pitch he got when there was some puzzle that he couldn't figure out and he was getting frustrated. "We have ten corpses, among them a CIA agent -although after all this I suspect the others won't be simple civilians- all of them living in the same suburban area, and now you're telling me that one of the survivors is shut away in a CIA psychiatric facility." He waited for her confirmation. He waited in vain. His face hardened. "What do we do now? Do we ask the CIA again? Try to get some information from them."

Olivia cracked an acid smile. "They won't answer us. First, because they're the CIA and they think the world is their playground. An second, because the clues lead us to think that they were operating on American soil, something that is forbidden for them. I don't think they'll admit it."

"So, we're screwed."

"Mostly so." Olivia clenched he teeth as a new determination born on her. "_But_ not everything is lost yet."

"No?"

"No. We have the corpses." She looked at him and smirked. "And we have Walter."

* * *

><p>"There is a curious fact," Walter said turning the licorice candy in his hand.<p>

"What is it?"

"Red licorice is made of strawberries or cherries and had little or nothing to do with actual licorice. For us Americans this is the normal color, but any European would tell you that black licorice is the real one. And they would be right. In fact, black licorice is redundant, because that's how the real licorice candy looks."

"Fascinating," Peter said, deadpan. "Now, can you tell us anything related to the _corpse_ in front of us?"

Walter looked at the body laid down on the autopsy table as if he saw it for the first time. "Oh! Oh... yes... of course." He cracked an apologetic smile. "Our friend here suffered a cardiac arrest due to unknown reasons that led him to death. Even if there was a chance that it was caused by a high blood pressure -cholesterol seems to had been a friend of him- that doesn't explain the death of the rest, for the same reasons. There are no congenital illnesses or malformations in the hearts of any of them. Their hearts simply stopped. In fact, all the activity in their bodies seems to have stopped in the same moment."

"Without an external cause?" Peter asked.

"None that I found. So, the logical next step was examining the brain."

Walter gave the half chewed licorice to Astrid. She took it with a clear face of apprehension. Walter put himself next to the victim's head. He turned the body's neck carefully and showed the brain, exposed without the back part of the skull. Olivia wondered what story they would invent to tell Mrs. White.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is a burn out brain," Walter announced in a very theatrical way.

Peter leaned out to take a better look at it. "I don't see any sign at first sight."

"Of course not, it is at neuronal level. The synapses suffered a temporary overflow of nerve impulses. Something saturated the brain connections, stopping all the neuronal work at once and hence, stopping all the organs because no orders were coming from the brain."

"What did?" Peter asked

"I postulate that this was caused by the reception of a tremendous amount of visual information." Walter turned the victim's head again and opened one of his eyes. "Theory supported by the lesions in his retinas."

Olivia stared at the victim, then at Walter. "I'm not sure if I understand."

"You see, even if the mind has a plastic quality, it has a limit. There is a..." He gestured with his hands as if he was holding a box. "A certain amount of information that it could maintain. That's why we forget. Some memories are washed away so new memories can be stored. There are cases where a person can stretch his mental abilities, or even have a flawless memory, but he must train or suffer some condition. Otherwise, the results can be..." He pointed at the body. "Unfortunate."

Olivia needed a couple of seconds to absorb his words. "Walter, are you telling me that his brain collapsed because of an excess of information?"

He flashed an impish smile. "He died because he knew too much."

Peter groaned and hid his face behind his hand.

"But who would want to kill someone like this?" Olivia asked.

"It would be quite undetectable," Peter reasoned.

"Not if you leave ten corpses in a common grave. Especially CIA agents."

Peter seemed to be about to say something, but then he closed his mouth and just nodded.

"Why must it be a murder?" Astrid asked with her usual shy delivery. "Maybe somebody was trying to introduce all this information in their heads, but it was too much and they died?"

"Oh!" Walter exclaimed.

The other three gawked at him.

He shrugged like an embarrassed child. "Well... there was... there was a government project very similar to this. The idea was to create a device that could get information into the spies' mind through encoded images, so they could even have the entire database of the agency."

"Agents that could recognize any other agent or bad guy without having to resort to computers or archives, only to what it was in their minds," Peter deduced.

"But more than that. The brain is the most sophisticated computer of Nature, its power consists of connecting data. So an agent wouldn't only recognize a person from a criminal organization, he could relate it with blueprints of a bomb and reports about a plan to assassinate a high ranking officer."

Peter crossed and uncrossed his arms. "An agent with that ability would be..."

"Invaluable," Olivia finished for him. "Walter, do you know anything more about that program? Did you work in it?"

"No, not me, but I met one of the scientists in charge. They were two men, the one I knew, American, and his British colleague. They were studying the basic cognitive process and their original idea was to help people with brain damage to recover their memories." His tone darkened. "Then the CIA came over."

Olivia didn't have time to deal with what that meant. "What are their names?"

Walter's sudden smile wavered until it disappeared. "I don't remember."

Peter sighed. "How typical."

* * *

><p>They tried the usual things to awaken Walter's memory: from giving him snacks to playing his favorite songs, going through playing charades. Nothing worked. Searching through Walter's files was an option, but as Peter pointed out, it was possible that nothing could come from it, since it wasn't one of Walter's projects. Besides, Walter himself was convinced that if he had ever kept records about it he surely had destroyed them. When Olivia asked him how he knew that he just shrugged. It was something he simply knew.<p>

In the end, Olivia decided to go to her office. She had work to do and she was achieving nothing in the laboratory. Nobody was, really. Even Peter seemed to be in the verge of losing his patience and he offered himself as a voluntary to buy cherry yoghourt when Walter demanded it in one of his mood swings.

Things seemed the usual calm in the FBI quarters. Olivia appreciated it. Five minutes saying random names in case one of them did the charm had given her a slight headache. The hazardous task of revising the list of residents in Meadow's Branch that had served to identify the remaining bodies happened to be a good therapy. As she had suspected, all the victims had lived in the suburban area before disappearing with other four couples whose status was "completely AWOL." From the ten, only Bradley White was acknowledged to be working for the CIA, other six seemed clean and the other two had a partially restricted file, obvious sign that they worked for some government agency in a clandestine capacity.

She was studying the list for a third time when Astrid called. In a shaky voice that didn't conceal her excitement much, she said she had found new data and asked Olivia if she could go back to the laboratory. The option of staying and chat with Charlie was tempting, but Olivia realized that the faster she discovered key information the sooner she would rest.

In the laboratory, Peter greeted her with a weak nod. Walter was next to Gene, sat down on a stool as he ate yoghourt. Astrid approached her with an expression Olivia found weird: it had more of nervousness than of satisfaction.

"You told me you found something," Olivia said, hoping for not ending up needing an Advil this time.

Astrid nodded. "Taking Walter's words about the objectives of the mysterious program as a basis, I found a match in something called Project Omaha."

"Does this name ring a bell, Walter?" Olivia asked.

Walter shook his head no without lifting his gaze from his yoghourt.

"According to the info, Project Omaha was a training camp for top score recruits that had as an objective the choosing of future candidates that showed extraordinary brain skills," Astrid explained.

"Candidates for what?"

"That's a good question. And it took me a considerable amount of time to find the answer. It was a obscure reference in a lost file, it said that Omaha had selected two suitable candidates as a part of a bigger project called Intersect."

Walter jumped from his seat. "Yes, that's it! That's the name of the project!" He was almost bouncing from excitement. "It comes from Intersection in Maths, the operation where two sets that have some common elements and others that aren't create a new set with the common ones. It was a logical name."

"Oh, _now_ you say that," Peter said, sarcastic.

"Did you find something more about that Intersect project?" Olivia asked, ignoring the Bishops.

"Not much. Only that it was rejected by the FBI." Astrid grimaced. "As soon as I began to search for more information my access was blocked."

"Your access to national security files?"

"My access to _everything_. My Internet connection was cut out... I even lost the control of the computer."

Olivia looked at Peter instinctively. "Is that even possible?"

Peter's expression was grim. "Theoretically, yes. The problem is that for locating and IP and block the computer from the outside you need a hell of resources. Who has the power to do something like that?"

"Oh, I have my suspicions," Astrid said. That caught their attention. "Not long after that, a NSA agent called me."

"NSA?" Peter asked. "Like in National Security Agency?"

"No, the Nintendo Society of America." Peter blinked at her. It was strange to see Astrid being so directly sarcastic. "I'm sorry, I'm just edgy."

"It's all right," Olivia said. She extended her hand toward her in a calming gesture. "What did the agent want?"

"He asked if he could help me."

"Excuse me?"

"That's what he said. That his department receives alerts when somebody searches for certain information and he asked what I wanted to know."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. I didn't see any need to lie. We're all government agencies, aren't we?"

Olivia suspected the answer, but even then she asked: "Did he help you?"

"No. I think he received orders while he was speaking with me. At first he was just wary, but after some time, when I told him we were investigating the dead of a CIA agent among ten other victims in L.A., and especially when I mentioned the Intersect, he _barked_ to me that I didn't have security clearance to access some information. I reminded him that I was a federal agent in a federal investigation."

"What did he say?"

Astrid sneered. "That if I had any complain I could talk with his superiors. Until then my access is restricted."

Olivia brooded over what Astrid just said. She was encountering too many obstacles for her liking.

"So... the CIA and now the NSA," Peter broke the silence. "Am I the only one worried?"

No, but Olivia was too stubborn to admit it or even let it take over her. She didn't become a FBI agent to give up as soon as the first problem showed up in her way. Emily White deserved to know what exactly happened to her son.

"Astrid, is there any way that you can access the restricted files?"

"No without hacking their servers and I'm not anywhere that good." She waved her hands in front of her to stress her words.

"Peter..." The vibration coming from her cell phone cut her short.

"Did you want me to ask some of my weird friends?" he guessed.

Olivia nodded and smiled at him as she picked up the phone. "Dunham."

"_Broyles here. I want to see you in my office. __**Now**__."_

Olivia listened to the dead tone in the line. She had a bad feeling about this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** There are several dialogue lines taken from "Chuck. Vs. the Beefcake" that belong to the episode's writer, Phil Klemmer.

**Author's Note:** The story is called Intersect(ion) (it's just that ff doesn't allow parentheses in the tittle) not to mix with another story called Intersection, written by Frea O'Scanlin. Basically because I'm not in any way as good as she is.

* * *

><p>To say that the atmosphere in Broyles' office was tense would be an understatement of epic proportions. It reminded Olivia of her childhood in Jackson, of those summer afternoons when the skies darkened and tinted everything of a sepia tone and the heat was so sticky that it was difficult to breath and she knew a storm was about to break.<p>

Charlie was the first person that caught her sight, even if he was cross-armed in a corner of the room. He just arched an eyebrow as a greeting.

Broyles was sat down behind his desk, with the elbows resting against the table and his fingers intertwined, forming a bridge in front of his somber face. He stood up as he extended his arm to point out two men in suits that Olivia had never seen before. "Agent Dunham, these are agent Steve Sheridan from the Directorate of Science and Technology and Major John Casey, from the NSA."

Agent Sheridan was a rather dull looking man, the kind of person that one could meet in a cafeteria and as soon as one was asking for coffee his face was completely erased from memory. Major Casey was tall and very muscular, with light eyes that looked at her as if he wanted to skewer her and a perfectly chiseled jaw. It was surrounded by such a powerful aura that he seemed to be able to block the sun if he put himself in front of her.

Olivia didn't move or made as if to shaking their hands. "To what do we owe the honor?"

She felt Broyle's warning stare.

There seemed to be a silent discussion between Agent Sheridan and Major Casey that was resolved by a pleading look from the agent, a vigorous head shake from the Major and the agent taking a step forward. "We're here because it has come to our attention that you've been investigating about a woman named Lucy Kwon," he said in a rather monotonous voice.

"The name isn't familiar."

"I think you know her as Lucy Johnston."

That name she knew. "She was one of the corpses we found in a common grave in L.A."

"Yes, Agent Broyles informed us about it."

Olivia crossed her arms. Why was she there if they had already talked with her boss?

Agent Sheridan inhaled profoundly, as if he needed all his energy to keep talking. "She was an agent of the NSA."

Olivia uncrossed her arms. That had to be the first time that the intelligence services were helpful and honest.

"Have you any idea of how she ended in a common grave?" she asked.

"The NSA didn't know her whereabouts. She was on leave."

"Oh, like Bradley White. Didn't you know about his whereabouts either?" She noticed that Sheridan squinted. She had touched a nerve. "That's why you told her mother he was dead a week before the corpses were found?"

"He disappeared. We sent the letter because his dead was the most logical outcome."

"Why? What was he up to?"

"That's classified," he answered, stern.

"What was his job? What was Lucy's job?"

"Classified."

"Do you suspect any criminal or terrorist organization to be behind their deaths?"

"Classified."

"Have you found anything relevant relating this investigation?"

"Classified."

Olivia couldn't help snigger, the situation was beginning to turn into a kafkaesque situation. She glanced at Broyles and Charlie out of incredulity. They didn't seem very pleased either.

"Then why are you two here?" she asked.

Agent Sheridan loosened his tie and collar a bit. Olivia saw how Major Casey kicked the back of his leg surreptitiously. "We're here in the attempt to reach for a... deal," Sheridan uttered.

"About what?"

"There are national security related issues in the stake. So we'll like to ask for you to close the case."

Olivia couldn't believe what her ears were hearing. "Under what pretense?" The two men didn't answer. That boiled her blood a little more. "People died. We can't close the case without finding out what happened. Without telling their families what happened."

Agent Sheridan raised his hand, as if to appease her. "I've explained myself poorly, it seems. We want the FBI to close the case, that doesn't mean there won't be an investigation, but it would be carried out by the CIA."

"The CIA has no competence in these matters."

"They are our agents."

"It's a criminal investigation. Our jurisdiction, not yours."

A condescending smile grazed his lips. "C'mon, Agent Dunham, we know it's just semantics. It's not your division's jurisdiction either."

"What do you know about our division?"

"That you investigate all kind of spooky happenings. Very X-Files."

"I would say that a common grave with ten bodies that apparently died because their brains over-saturated with information fits perfectly in our type of cases."

Major Casey took the floor for the first time, his voice was deep and a bit intimidating when he asked: "What do you know about that?"

Olivia chose to be bold. "What do you know about Project Intersect?"

The Major approached her until he was at an arm's length. Olivia could feel the shadow of danger hover over her.

"For your own good, don't say that name ever again," he said.

"Are you threatening one of my agents?" Broyles asked. His question had been so quick that Olivia realized she wasn't the only one to sense the atmosphere thicken.

Major Casey changed his demeanor. It seemed as if he realized how his words came out. His stare softened. Somewhat. "Your investigation has led you to national security matters. I'm not authorized... _Nobody_ here is authorized to tell or know anything about them."

Olivia didn't react well to threats. She never had. They used to make her even more stubborn. "It's that why those ten people died?"

Major Casey grunted. Olivia didn't know what to make of that sound.

Agent Sheridan opened his mouth to talk. Major Casey silenced him with a hand gesture. He seemed determined to finish the conversation himself.

"From a fellow marine to another, stop this investigation. It has nothing to do with your division's work and you're going to step on the toes of people that can destroy your career."

Olivia looked at the Major's Marine insignia ring, then at him. She smiled. "From a fellow marine to another, I can't do that, it would be a betrayal of my duty."

Major Casey lowered his head and rubbed his nose. "I had my fill of stubborn blondes for this week," he mumbled.

It was in that moment when the office's door opened and Harris entered into the room. Olivia cursed to herself. His usual deprecating smile faded at the sight of Sheridan and Casey.

"What's happening here?"

Broyles handled the situation in the moment. "Gentlemen, this is Sanford Harris Consultant for DHS. Sanford, these are Agent Sheridan and Major Casey. They are here to ask for a case Agent Dunham is leading."

"Why I'm not surprised?" he asked in a low voice. Then he addressed the two men. "You're not FBI, I gather."

"No, sir," Sheridan answered. "I'm an agent of the Directorate of Science and Technology and Major Casey is a member of the NSA."

"And I, a liaison of the Pentagon, wasn't asked to join this meeting because..."

"We didn't want to bother you with what seems a small misunderstanding," Broyles said. Olivia was impressed of how his usual slow delivery made that lie look like the truth.

"What misunderstanding was that?"

"Since Agent Dunham's investigation deals with matters of national security we've asked her to close the case and leave it to us," Sheridan informed, all diligent.

Harris looked at Olivia with such glee that she felt like slapping him.

"And as I reminded them, this is a criminal investigation. It's our jurisdiction," she said.

"Our agents died."

"Even then."

Harris caressed his chin with a pensive gesture. "Well, I'm sure that if I talk with our guests I'll be able to solve this problem. You share this SSI with me and I'll make sure that our agents don't trespass the boundaries."

"You're not authorized to know anything," Major Casey said.

Olivia loved Harris' annoyed expression. She began to like this Casey guy.

"It's Top Secret information," Sheridan explained.

That was the first time that they said how kind of classified information they were guarding. Not confidential or even secret, but top secret. The kind of matters that maybe the President, if he asked nicely, would know. Basically because the CIA liked to do everything behind people's back. And the NSA was involved too, which made the situation even worse.

"The problem is simple," Major Casey said. "Our agents died, that's for sure. The Fringe division, even the FBI, can investigate all they want. They won't find anything, because this is beyond your reach."

"You could help," Olivia said.

"But we won't." He deliberately looked at Broyles. "And you can't make us."

"We're all government agencies, we work for the good of America, don't we?" Olivia asked. She knew she sounded awfully naïve.

Major Casey's look at her was almost sympathetic. "Look, I've come to talk to you personally because I respect you. You did a good job as a CID agent." He threw a judgmental glare at Harris. "I didn't want this to leak. But if the only way to stop this nonsense is my superiors talking with yours so they rap you on the knuckles, you give me no choice."

Major Casey stormed out the office with Sheridan at his tail. Olivia was left with the sensation that she was living in a parallel world. She was right and doing her job, so how it came that the people covering a murder could act so high and mighty as if they were doing her a favor?

"I bet you'll be happy, you pissed off the NSA and the CIA," Harris said.

He, on the other hand, seemed delighted. She had made new enemies, after all.

"Sir, you won't let them get their own way, will you?" she asked to Broyles, trying to conceal the uneasiness in her voice. "We are competent to investigate this case. They can't enter here and force us to do as they please. Not when I'm sure the CIA and the NSA are involved, somehow."

"More reason to stop provoking them, don't you think?" Harris said.

"The FBI doesn't stop an investigation just because it can bug some powerful people."

"Of course not, but in this case, these powerful people can stop this investigation."

"Until then, I don't see any reason to close the case."

"That would be all right if you were the only one affected. This can affect all of us." Harris' face became somber. "You don't want to make more enemies, Philip. Enough people want to close this division already."

_Starting with you,_ Olivia thought.

"Besides," Harris kept talking. "Why is this case so important? Does it have anything to do with the division's objectives?"

"You suddenly worry about that?" Olivia retaliated.

"Stop, you two," Broyles ordered.

He sat down with a heavy sigh. An invisible weight seemed to hunch him.

"Sir, if I may," Charlie said. They were the first words he uttered, so he grabbed their attention immediately. "You could give Dunham a week to see if she can get more information. I doubt that the CIA or the NSA would take radical measures in one week and if she doesn't get anything important in that time we will know for sure that it's not worth it."

Broyles extended his right arm and lent his fingers against the table as he thought it over. When he looked up at Olivia again his expression was unreadable.

"One week," he said.

Olivia nodded once. "It would be enough."

* * *

><p>Contrary to her bravado, Olivia doubted she could find any relevant thing in a week. She wasn't sure even if a year would be enough. All relevant information was at the hands of the people that weren't willing to give it to her.<p>

In spite of it, Olivia kept revising files and making phone calls. She also pestered Walter from time to time to know if he had remembered the name of the scientist in charge of Project Intersect (whatever the hell that was.)

A day passed by and in the midday of the next -when Olivia was drawing smilies on her notes because there was nothing else she could do- Charlie passed a phone handset at her that would change everything.

"The real estate company that sold the houses in Meadow's Branch," he told her.

Olivia picked the phone in a hurry. She had been trying to contact them since she found their name. She had feared the CIA had "made them disappear" or something.

"Yes, Dunham speaking."

"_Agent Dunham, I'm Sherry, I call you from _Green Horizons_. I think you wanted to talk with us."_ She had the usual chirpy tone of saleswomen.

"I've left you several voice messages."

"_I'm sorry, due to a restructuring we're moving our headquarters. It's been a little chaotic."_

"It's all right," Olivia lied. "I have some questions about a housing development called Meadow's Branch, in L.A."

Olivia could sense a sticky silence coming from the other side.

"It's for a federal investigation," Olivia added, to put pressure.

"_Are we... in any trouble?"_

"No, as far as I know. I just wanted to make you some questions."

Sherry sighed loudly. _"We'll do as much as we can to help."_

People were so nice when they didn't have anything to lose.

"Do you know how it happened? How all that people disappeared?"

"_No. In fact, we didn't know anything bad had happened until the police called us."_

"The police." Strange, L.A. police didn't seem to know anything about the case when she called.

"_Yes, they told us that they've found the entire suburban area deserted. You can imagine how shocked we were."_

Olivia could indeed. It was bad publicity for them. "Before it happened... did you see anything suspicious or weird? Anything, even if it looked irrelevant at the moment, that could help us?"

"_I wish, but we really didn't see it coming. The area was pleasant and peaceful, and the neighbors seemed to have created a very stable community. Poor, poor people."_ Sherry sobbed. _"And poor Carmichaels."_

That name didn't ring any bell. "Who?"

"_Charles and Sarah Carmichael. They bought one of the houses three days before the disappearing. Such a bad timing."_

Olivia revised her files, knocking over the vase with the pencils in the process. The Carmichaels weren't mentioned anywhere. She didn't know what it meant, but she decided to pursue this new piece of information.

"They were in the community when it happened, I gather."

"_Yes, they moved to Philip Yeager's former house. I was surprised by how quick we could resold his house."_

Olivia had an inkling of how that happened.

"Have you any idea if the other neighbors knew them or...?"

"_I don't think so. In fact, one of them... was it Bradley? Called to ask if we had their references."_

"And did you?"

"_Well, I didn't get what he meant by references, Meadow's Branch isn't a private building. I told him that we examined their jobs and income. He was the owner of a small software company, she was a housewife. They seemed a perfectly normal couple."_

"Did you meet them?"

"_Not personally. A middleman came and bought the house for them. I saw a picture of them, though. "_

"Anything significant about them?"

"_No. As I've said they looked like a normal lovely couple. He was a slim young man, with brown curly hair and she was a blonde knockout. I can't tell you more than that."_

"And they suddenly disappeared two weeks ago, like the others."

"_That's it."_

Olivia extended the interrogation a little longer, to no avail. In the end, the only thing she could get was a new name: Carmichael. Charles and Sarah Carmichael.

She searched the database for more information. Carmichael, of course, was nowhere to be found. Not exactly. If one looked for certain data, like the Tax ID, yes, he existed, but he didn't have a personal profile. His civil self didn't seem to exist. And his wife Sarah was even more of a ghost than him.

Olivia resorted to the news in the area of L.A. To see if she could find something more. After long, boring hours, she ran into a tiny mention about Charles Carmichael: he apparently lost 100.000 dollars in a charity event Lone Kirk hosted a year before. Lone Kirk was a criminal now in jail for trafficking with counterfeit plates. That couldn't be a coincidence.

Olivia did a recap: ten bodies were found in L.A., the ten were probably agents of the CIA and the NSA, all of them lived in Meadow's Branch, the Carmichaels went to live there just before all the people disappeared, they seemed to be strangers for the rest of the neighbors, the neighbors that –she shouldn't forget it- died due of an over saturation of their brains, and that linked them to something called project Intersect.

It frustrated her. It was as if she had all the pieces on the table, but she couldn't figure out how to put them together.

She spent the rest of the day in the FBI headquarters. No breaks for lunch or coffees, no calls to her sister. She even stayed a few hours when the rest of the people had left. Alone, in the middle of the dark room, with a desk lamp on as only company. She revised all the data again and again and again, until her vision clouded. It was that moment when her rational side took over and made her stop.

Her trip to the parking lot seemed unreal, like a scene taken from a horror movie. The blonde that is about to get killed by the psycho. Olivia shook her head to dislodge that idea from her mind. She didn't need any of that.

When she reached her car she unlocked it with the remote. When she used the handle to open the door, she realized she had _locked_ it. That was the last straw. Did she leave the car open? Was she so distracted lately? Could she trust her mind again?

She decided not to worry about it and entered into the vehicle. The moment she made as if to take the seat belt she felt a sudden movement and something held her shoulders in a strong grip to yank her backward. The speed and the strength of the movement stopped her breathing and left her lightheaded for a second. Before she could react, she realized a hand clasped her left arm and immobilized it. When she looked she saw that it was tied down with her own seat belt. Somebody was grabbing it. She couldn't move her arm, not without breaking it. Very clever. So very professional.

Olivia felt something cold and sharp on her throat. A blade.

Somebody was behind her, threatening her life. Who? Was he an assassin? But if he was, why wasn't she dead already?

Olivia inhaled sharply. A pleasant smell to grapefruit. Weird. She was facing a nice smelling professional.

"Listen to me," the stranger hissed into her right ear. The voice was soft and unmistakably feminine. "Stop poking your nose into what happened in L.A."

Olivia had a moment of perfect bewilderment. She didn't know if she should feel enraged or afraid by the fact that everyone was interested in her leaving her current case aside. In the end, anger won.

"Who are you?"

"Somebody who's here to tell you that nothing good will come to you if you keep digging."

Olivia turned her head all she could to catch a glimpse of the other woman. She hit Olivia's jaw with her forearm to prevent it. Olivia continued her interrogation. If she couldn't find who was attacking her, at least she could try to find something more about all that mystery.

"Why so interested in warning me?"

"You're FBI. You're supposed to be one of the good guys."

"Supposed?"

"I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt." The woman exhaled deeply. "Look, it's simple. Or you are with the good guys, and then this investigation is none of your business. Or you're with Fulcrum, and then I'll make sure that you won't see the next sunrise."

Olivia was too confused to react to the threat. "Work for who?"

"Why are you so interested in knowing what happened to those people?"

"Because that's _my job_." Olivia couldn't believe that nobody got it. "Ten people died. Somebody has to find out why."

The other woman heaved a sigh of disdain. "Believe me, they don't deserve your dedication."

"You knew them?"

"Unfortunately." She sounded disgusted.

Olivia glanced at the rear-view mirror. The woman had pointed it towards the ceiling. She'd have to trust her ear and instincts to decipher the other woman's feelings.

"Who were them?" Olivia asked.

"Dangerous people."

"They worked for the CIA and the NSA."

"Their allegiances were elsewhere."

That changed the entire scenario. "Are you telling me they were... moles?"

"I'm telling you that we did what we had to do. They gave us no choice."

That woman seemed awfully chatty for some professional threatening her life, Olivia mused.

"Did you kill them?" she asked point-blank.

The woman snickered. "After a fashion." She moved behind her to get more comfortable or maybe to make easier to prevent any chance to escape. Olivia wasn't sure. "They're dead and I'm not sorry for them. They were cold blooded killers. They deserved to die."

That answered some question, but left open a dozen more.

"Why using such a complicated method?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Bullshit.

"You fried their brains with some device that saturated them with _images_." No answer. "Does this anything to do with the objectives of Project Intersect?"

The woman tightened the hold on Olivia's left arm. The knife grazed her neck.

"Don't say that name ever again," she warned.

"I'm sick and tired of everybody reacting to that name as if I insulted their mothers." She felt the need to punch something, but she thought it over. She inhaled in and out a couple of times to focus herself. "That project seems to kill people and I don't like it. Whatever it is, it must stop."

"You have no idea of what you're talking about. It's a national security issue. This is bigger than you and me. Much bigger. The Intersect is a name that draws too much attention. I'm doing you a favor _asking_ you to stop your investigation. Fulcrum won't be that nice."

"It's the second time you say that name."

"It's one too many for your own good. Forget this case, you and your little conman friend. All your team. Forget you ever laid your eyes on it." The woman approached Olivia's ear as much as she could. "I don't want to come here again and be more... conclusive. I would hate to perform a tracheotomy on you. Did I make myself clear?"

Olivia didn't open her lips. She immediately felt a hot sting of pain on her throat.

"Did I make myself clear?" the other woman repeated, pressing her knife a little more.

"Yes," Olivia hissed.

"Good. Let's not have this conversation ever again, OK?"

Olivia couldn't answer back. A heavy thud on the base of her head sent her to obliviousness.

* * *

><p>Olivia passed the ice pack from her right hand to the left before it went to sleep and put the pack on her nape again.<p>

"I hate this case," she mumbled at nobody in particular in the laboratory.

"Well, you wouldn't have one if you weren't so stubborn," Charlie said.

Olivia glared at him.

"Look, Liv, I know how you feel about it and I support you," Charlie continued. "But this seems one of those spies' games, not part of the Pattern. You already have enough troubles,"

"I think he's right," Peter said.

"Not you too," Olivia whispered. "Is there any clues about the woman that attacked me?"

"Sorry, Liv, the cameras didn't record anything. That stranger was like a ghost."

"It's a FBI building," she reminded him.

"Yes, which worries me, because it means she knows how to go through our security measures all too well."

Olivia tried to ignore her throbbing head. "Did your friend get anything about that information about the Intersect that was blocked?" she asked Peter.

He stared at her in dead silence, then shook his head. "Not much. Not more than we had. The Intersect was a project developed by the CIA in collaboration with the NSA. The idea was to create a kind of super spies that could possess the entire intelligence database in their heads. It was all experimental until 9/11, apparently. After that date the two agencies pushed the agenda and tried to make it an official project for the entire intelligence service."

"And what happened?"

"The FBI refused. The Intersect didn't have a good record with the people that had offered themselves as guinea pigs."

"In what sense?"

"I don't know, but bearing in mind that the Intersect meant filling a person's brain with big chunks of sensory information, I suspect it has something to do with those candidates going nuts." Peter rubbed his face. He seemed tired. "Anyway, that's when the project went Top Secret."

Olivia waited for him to continue. He didn't. "And?"

"And that's it."

"Isn't there any way of finding out more about it?"

"It's _top secret._ Even I have my limits," Peter said, rather annoyed.

Olivia threw the ice pack at the table. Her nape was so cold that it was completely desensitized, anyway.

"This can't be the end of it. There has to be a hole, a crack that could allow us to know more."

"Why are you so obsessed with this case?" Peter asked.

"Because somebody has attacked me. And because I don't like scientists using people as guinea pigs!"

She noticed Walter getting upset out of the corner of her eye. He began to fumble with his hands. Olivia turned her head to him, the surgical tape on her neck stretched her skin.

"Don't you remember anything yet, Walter?"

He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I've-I've tried but... Nothing." He dropped his head, looking ashamed.

At his back, Astrid frowned.

"What is it?" Olivia asked her.

"Walter has been busy all day," she said.

He threw Astrid a dark glare. His stare softened when he addressed Olivia. "I've been thinking of using some experimental drugs on me, to excite my memory."

"Walter!" Peter cried.

The man slouched a bit more. "It could be useful... in the future."

His helpless expression moved a side of Olivia that was usually padlocked. The one that cherished memories like her mother's perfume or the first time that baby Ella grabbed one of her fingers.

She sighed and approached Walter with weary steps. When she was in front of him she managed to smile. "Walter, this case is important and I want to solve it, but I don't want you to do anything stupid."

"I'm sorry."

Olivia shook her head no. "Don't worry, OK?" She put her hand on his shoulder to rub it affectionately. "Do you want me to buy you something?"

"No... I have chocolate ice cream." He suddenly seemed to remember something and looked at Astrid. "Don't I?"

"Oh, I forgot!" She ran to the corner where the freezer was. She came back with a plastic container in her hand. "I'm sorry, Walter."

Walter cracked a soft smile. "Don't worry, Asterix."

Astrid ignored his mistake and gave the ice cream to him. "You'll have to wait a little before eating it. I'm afraid it's covered in frost."

Walter gave a start. "Stephen Bartowski!" he shouted.

Astrid and Olivia gaped at him.

"The scientist's name. Bartowski!" he explained.

Astrid and Olivia looked at the ice cream container. It must have had magic powers.

Peter approached them. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes!" Walter was beaming now. "Stephen. He was a nice fella. His bodyguard frightened me, but I liked him."

Olivia looked at Astrid, she bolted for the computer before Olivia uttered a word. During several minutes there was only the sound of keying and clicking the mouse. Olivia would swear she could hear the same air due to the otherwise complete silence in the laboratory.

"Here he is." Astrid announced. Olivia put herself at her back, to have a perfect look of the screen. "Stephen J. Bartowski, age 57. Computer engineer. Last known residence Encino, California."

"That was in... 1991. Any clue of where he can be now?"

Astrid shook her head no. "I already checked it. None."

Olivia wasn't going to give up, not when she could see the light at the tunnel's end at last. "OK... Does he have family?"

"Yes, a wife, who is missing, apparently, and two children, living in L.A. Eleanor Faye and Charles Irving."

"Charles?" That was just too much coincidence. "Can you find a picture of him?"

Astrid clicked and the face portrait of a young man filled the screen. He had brown curly hair, brown eyes and a rather silly smile grazed his lips.

Olivia smirked. "What are the odds of the son of the the Intersect's creator living in L.A., having a name and looks very alike to Charles Carmichael's, and no relation with him or the project?"

"You're saying that they're the same person?" Peter asked.

"I'm saying that we're going to L.A. to find out."

* * *

><p>Olivia took Peter and Walter with her. As always, Astrid would wait at home. They left Charlie in Boston too, so he could cover their backs in case Harris began making too many questions.<p>

Broyles made sure the FBI in L.A. knew of their arrival and Olivia received all kind of resources when they met their western colleagues in the afternoon of the next day, from a car to a complete file about Charles Bartowski.

First, they took a look at his house, a Spanish style building in Echo Park. It seemed a nice quiet place, with a beautiful courtyard decorated by tropical plants and a fountain in its center. Peter remarked on how old Hollywood it looked.

Nobody was at home.

The trio (or rather, Olivia) then decided to pay Charles a visit at his workplace, the Buy More in Burbank, where he worked as a Nerd Herd technician. As a cover job it was genius: nobody would ever think that a Nerd herder could work as a spy.

Luck wanted that when they parked next to the entrance door of the store, they witnessed two thug looking men and a woman in a suit getting out. They were dragging a lanky young man with curly brown hair that for the look of it was babbling as he walked. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt, a grey tie and black pants; the uniform of the Nerd Herd.

"Is that-?" Peter began to say.

"Yep, Charles Bartowski."

"What are they-?"

"Abducting him, apparently."

"What do we do?"

"Follow them."

Walter laughed behind the couple. "How exciting."

The kidnappers put Bartowki into a black sedan. The woman and one of the men went in the backseat with him, the other drove.

The pursuit of the sedan took Olivia and company to a deserted industrial state which forced her to make a detour to avoid suspicions. So when she parked the car in a suitable place, the kidnappers had already entered into one of the premises. Two henchmen were guarding the entrance.

During ten minutes they waited, to see how things developed. Nothing happened. It exhausted Olivia's already thin patience.

"I'm going in," she decided.

"What are you-?"

She ignored him and opened the door. "Stay put, Walter." She glared at Peter. "You too"

"Me too? Olivia..."

She got out and opened the trunk.

"Olivia!" Peter shouted, coming out as well. He faced her. "I'm not going to let you go alone."

"Peter..."

"No." He made a energetic gesture with his hand. "Look, I'm no hero, but I won't stay here while you go in there and meet who knows what."

Olivia confronted his resolute expression with a cold stare of her own. He didn't yield an inch. She swore in a low voice and reached for her second regulation gun. "All right, take this and put on the vest."

Peter grabbed the weapon taking care of not touching the trigger.

"Stay behind me all the time," she instructed him. "And Peter." He raised his stare from the gun to her. "Use it only when there is no other choice."

They approached the premise through the back alley. Several windows darkened by dirt covered the walls. It was impossible to open them and even if it wasn't, Olivia didn't want to risk it. In the opposite side to the main entrance –and the henchmen guarding it- they discovered a back door. It was secured by a chain and a padlock.

Olivia pulled it with no effect. It was solid.

"I can pick it," Peter said.

"Really? It's been a good idea to take you with me then."

He didn't reply to that. Instead, he knelt down and took out a small bag from his jacket. When he opened it, Olivia could see a collection of lock picks.

"How is that you carry those?"

"In case Walter gets locked in the bathroom again."

Olivia decided not to press the issue and let him open the door, which he did several minutes later, just when her anxiety was reaching uncomfortable levels.

Olivia made sure that the coast was clear. Then she guided Peter through a labyrinth of pallet pillars.

She could hear distant sounds as they approached the center of the building. A female voice shouted something, Olivia couldn't make out what. The noise became clearer, turned into people talking, until they got a glimpse of people. Olivia crawled and reached a bunch of boxes that covered her. She craned her neck, so she could spy the four people in front of her.

It was then when she heard loud and clear: "Me. I'm the Intersect,"

Peter and Olivia exchanged dumbfounded looks.

The man that had said those words was tied up to a set of shelves by a chain. Clear whip wounds plough his back, perfect crimson lines over his tank top. His face showed up signs of having suffered a few blows too.

"No, he's not. It's me, OK?" said Charles Bartowski, He was tied up to a wheelchair. "And I resent the fact that I couldn't stand up to torture. Do your worst. In fact, you could stick that incredibly long needle in my eye and I still wouldn't tell you anything!"

There was a blonde woman, also tied up to a machine that Olivia couldn't identify. She was looking at Bartowki with a mixture of worry and homicidal urges. She didn't seem scared at all. At least not any way as freaked out as any average girl would be in the same situation.

The kidnapper woman -a brunette with a chilling expression in her eyes, now that Olivia noticed- approached a table full of all kind of pointy instruments.

"This needle?" she said, taking it in her hand. She walked towards Bartowski as she raised it, in a very menacing manner. "You want me to put this needle in your eye?"

Olivia drew up her hand to her gun, ready to jump in at any moment and stop the torture, even at the cost of her life.

The kidnapper woman brought the needle closer to Bartowski's left eye. He had his stare fixed at it, as if he was mesmerized. "Y-you k-know... On-on s-second thought..." he babbled. Then he rolled his eyes and collapsed in a dead, so hard that he took the wheelchair down with him and hit his head.

"Wake him," the kidnapper woman ordered to her men in a harsh tone.

"That's a very... creative way to avoid torture," Peter murmured into Olivia's ear.

Olivia studied her surroundings to find a way to interrupt the torture session and ask some questions. There weren't many options: the hostages were in a kind of a cage and she and Peter didn't have the best angle for a surprise attack or a shooting. Besides, she didn't want to begin shooting randomly and kill people. For starters, she didn't even know who the good guys were in this. Her instincts (and common sense) told her that probably the ones tied up were the heroes in the story, but after everything she had seen in her life, she couldn't be 99 percent sure.

One of the kidnappers came with a bucket and splashed water over Bartowski's face.

"It's freezing!" he yelled, waking up. "Please, no more torture!"

"Enough!" the female kidnapper said. She was filling another syringe with an unknown liquid. "We will try... a different approach." She walked towards Bartowski again. "Tell me who the Intersect is by three or I inject Agent Walker with enough Ricin to kill an army."

Olivia heard Peter gasp. She suspected it had everything to do with the fact that the blonde woman, now identified as Agent Walker, was quite attractive.

"One..." the kidnapper woman began her counting.

Agent Walker seemed more worried for Bartowki or even for the other tied up man than for herself, if the quick glances she was directing to one and the other were any indication.

"Two..."

Olivia couldn't wait anymore. In for a penny, in for a pound. She touched Peter's shoulder with a hand to instruct him to stay put. Then she drew her gun and leaped out.

"FBI! Freeze!"

They stared at her as if a chihuahua singing rap had just showed up in front of them.

Nobody had time to react, because in that instant sirens rang outside. An assault team burst into the building to the cry of "CIA! Hands in the air!" Olivia hardly could feel outrage at the sight of a CIA assault team operating on American soil, since one of the agents approached her, the submachine gun pointing at her, as he shouted her to drop her gun and lie down on the ground. She complied reluctantly. She could see out of the corner of her eye how the female kidnapper ran away. Peter knelt down next to Olivia with his hands behind his nape. Another agent was aiming at him.

"I'm a FBI agent," Olivia said, trying not to yell. "Let me go."

"Shut up and don't move!" the agent told her.

"Could you please listen to her?" Peter said. The agent guarding him kicked his left side. Peter groaned. "At least frisk her to find her badge."

The agents didn't take the slightest notice of what he said.

"We're wearing vests with the freaking letters FBI on them!" Peter shouted. "Isn't that enough?"

Olivia leaned her hand palms on the ground to raise her torso.

"I said don't move," her guarding agent yelled.

"I'm a FBI agent. If you let me, I could identify myself."

The agent brought his weapon's barrel next to her forehead.

"Easy, soldier," said a deep voice behind him. "You can let her go."

A man showed up to lower the agent's weapon with a hand. The agent's eyes popped out of his head and he nodded hastily, like a child in front of a parent. The man didn't let any emotion show in his face. He was tall and muscular, and something in him made one feel that he could block the sun if he put himself in front of anybody.

"Major Casey," Olivia greeted. "What a coincidence."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** I want to thank all the reviewers publicly. You are few, but extremely important.

* * *

><p>She should have killed that woman when she had the option.<p>

Sarah knew this, as well as she knew it was too late to regret it.

There she was, standing up with her FBI bullet proof vest that contrasted with her well tailored suit and her straight blond hair in a ponytail. Even if she and Sarah were almost of the same height, Dunham was slimmer, almost sinewy, and much less voluptuous than Sarah. Her expression was tense and wary, which took away to her natural beauty. Sarah hated to resort to her father's vocabulary, but she didn't find a better term than "cop face." Dunham had a cop face.

In that moment, she was whispering something to the young man next to her.

Peter Bishop. The name had rung a bell when Sarah studied the file of the so called Fringe Division, but it wasn't until she saw him face to face that it clicked. She had met him once, with her father. Well, "meet" was saying too much. That would imply he saw her too, which didn't happen. She had no interest in knowing her father's partners, especially the temporary ones.

Sarah sighed. She should have known better.

Behind Peter she caught a glimpse of a slouching middle-aged man who was being led by an agent. He had his hands on the pockets of his long cardigan and looked everywhere with a mixture of wonder and anxiety. The infamous Walter Bishop: Peter's father, renowned scientist, a legend in Harvard and former psychiatric inmate.

So, a madman, a conman and a meddling witch, all working for the FBI.

Fantastic.

"Are you more interested in them than in me? I'm hurt," Cole said at her back.

She turned her head towards him. He was sat down, holding a lint that the paramedic had given him before leaving to grab more material. His smile among bruises made him oddly attractive. His broad shoulders and well formed biceps also helped.

"As a precautionary measure, I suspect they're trouble," she answered.

"And I'm not?"

"You're a different kind of trouble."

"You should watch me then. Closely."

He sent her a sultry gaze as he stretched his upper body to get closer to her. His warm breath brushed the skin of her forearm. Cole had made his intentions clear from the first moment. Those intentions included champagne, berries and hot sex (bed not mandatory). Sarah had been much less effusive. She suspected she would be more interested if it wasn't because she was worried for everything, basically. Her job, her career, Chuck... Not that Chuck deserved her concern. He made clear that he only wanted a purely professional relationship.

The idiot.

"Besides, they're cops," Cole added. "The good guys."

"Looks can deceive."

"Looks maybe, but actions rarely do. They tried to save our lives."

Sarah bit her lower lip. This turn in the conversation gave her the chance to say something that her usual reserve wasn't allowing her to do spontaneously. "I haven't thanked you for what you did. For claiming to be the... Intersect."

"It was the right thing to do. Part of my job." He shrugged and winced in pain. "You would do the same. And don't forget that Chuck confessed too, to spare me the torture. His actions are equally noteworthy."

Sarah could feel a fundamental part of her attracted to Cole. He was a little cocky, like Bryce was, but also possessed genuine kindness for others, the same way her former partner had. Sarah sighed. It would be easy to return to what she once enjoyed. She knew how it went: it was light and exciting and not very demanding for her heart. Still, she suspected that if she decided to get involved with Cole, she would be always yearning for some curly haired nerd. Even if he didn't deserve it.

The debate was futile anyway: Chuck was the Intersect and protecting the Intersect was her mission. Her job was everything she had now. Everything she could trust.

She stared at Dunham and her conman friend. They had been arguing with Casey for quite a time now. It was best if she joined them or Casey would be throwing her lack of commitment back in her face. She had enough with his usual gibes about Chuck.

"Stay here while I go to talk with the 'good guys,'" she told Cole and stroked his shoulder briefly, a little scared of his touch and his warm and what it could do to her resolve.

"As the doctor orders."

She stretched her lips in what she hoped was a smile. Chuck was in a corner, with his nape on ice. Sarah ignored him. The idiot had broken up with her. She still kept a particle of pride. Instead, she walked toward Casey as she tried to feign her best "girl next door" appearance.

"That doesn't answer my question," Dunham was saying when Sarah reached them.

Casey's resolution seemed to be wavering. That was weird. He put his fist in front of his mouth, as if to block his words. When he looked at Sarah, his stare was full of gratitude.

"This is Agent Walker, from the CIA," he introduced her, with a gesture of his hand.

Sarah had pondered how to act in front of the feds. In the end, she decided that friendliness would help her. "Nice to meet you. And thanks for trying to rescue us, even if in the end it wasn't necessary."

Recognition descended over Dunham's features. She paled. It brought out the freckles on her face.

Sarah had expected (hoped) that Dunham's memory wasn't that good. No such luck.

"You..." She stepped ahead almost as if she had suffered a spasm. "That's how the CIA works? Threatening colleagues?"

"What is she talking about?" Casey asked.

"Agent Walker here put a knife on my throat and told me that if I pursued my investigation she would personally use that knife to perform a tracheotomy on me."

Sarah tensed under Casey's hard stare.

"Really?" he said. "A tracheotomy?"

"It didn't stop you," Sarah retorted flippantly.

"Agent Walker, can you come with me a minute to talk?" Casey asked.

"No, I think-"

"Now!"

Sarah followed him, her eyes fixed on his broad shoulders. It reminded her of the Juvie in which she had been at fourteen, when the guards carried her to her cell for the first time.

Casey chose an isolated area, away from curious ears, and stopped to face Sarah with his arms crossed and his best intimidating expression. Even if she was used to his usual bullying style, she gulped. He had been put in charge to deal with the federals by the General and she suspected he didn't like her dealing with things on her own.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

Sarah tried to act frivolously. "Oh, c'mon, Casey, it wasn't that serious and she didn't see me. I just paid her a visit to... you know, scare her a little."

"And when did you made this... visit?"

"Yesterday. At nightfall."

"When you were with the Limey?" He craned his neck to glance at Cole. "Did you brought him with you?"

"What? Of course not."

"You left him alone in Castle? Roaming free?"

"I shut him in the room where we were supposed to sleep together, don't worry."

His mouth formed a perfect O as he raised a hand like a claw. He remained motionless for a second. Then he rolled his eyes and lowered his hand again.

"Why can't a CIA agent not screw things?" he murmured.

"Excuse me? This isn't my fault."

Casey's face went from surprise to anger in less than a second. "I told you. I said that I knew people like Dunham. That if you pushed her she would be even more stubborn."

"As I recall, your _expertise_ didn't help you to convince her when you talked with her."

Casey did that thing of narrowing his eyes and dilating his nostrils that meant he was gathering all his willpower to take a grip of his temper. "I had it under control, Walker. I told her straight that she shouldn't continue her investigation because she was going to get nothing. She already knew it was a lost cause. It was a matter of time."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... And the next day, the very next day, she was searching for information about Charles Carmichael." Sarah clicked her tongue. "Very effective, Casey."

He hardened his expression. "And then you go and threaten her with slitting her throat. Nice."

Frustration almost made her yell. Sarah modulated her voice, instead. "She was getting too close. What did you want me to do?"

"Think with your brains, for a change? Instead of jumping like a good doggy when somebody sniffs around the Nerd."

"I'm protecting the mission," she hissed.

He smirked. "Sure."

She was too tired to give him the satisfaction of reacting to his taunts. "Don't get cocky, they're here mostly because your agency allowed their people to sweep classified files as if they owned the place."

Casey tapped her left collarbone with his index finger. "I remind you that all of this began when the mighty CIA buried ten corpses in the first hole they found and called it secret cemetery."

Sarah repressed a groan. Sometimes her superiors made her feel like strangling them. She rubbed her face with her hand to focus. "Let's not argue. The important thing is deciding what to do with them."

"We can't hold them."

"Why not?"

"She's a FBI agent," he said as if it was obvious.

"And?"

"And?" he repeated.

"Yes, and? Since when is that a problem?"

He huffed.

"What happens with you?" she asked, astonished.

"I don't like the idea of messing with the FBI."

She let out a guffaw. "What? This is new."

He fidgeted. "We're in the same side."

"Casey, you think they're a joke."

"That's not-"

"You call them First Bunch of Idiots. And that's the nice name." She smiled at his annoyed face. "C'mon, you hate the FBI. Both of us do."

"No, you do, because your daddy is a criminal."

She recoiled. That was a cheap shot. Casey averted his gaze and, just for a second, regret was almost palpable in his bearing. He didn't utter any apologize, of course. "Her team is sanctioned by the senate," he said instead. "And her boss has some important friends. They're not your usual feds."

"All right," she said and it sounded like tacit forgiveness. "This isn't our choice anyway."

Casey nodded. "I'll call Beckman."

"You do that." Sarah saw Chuck approaching Dunham out of the corner of her eye. "I'm going to prevent World War III."

She bolted toward the FBI agent before Casey could reply and reached Chuck as he was shaking hands with Dunham.

"Hi, I'm Charles..."

"Carmichael, yes," Dunham finished for him, a sharp smile on her lips. "I was eager to meet you."

"Uh? Really?"

"I have several questions for you, Mr. Carmichael. Or should I call you Bartowski?"

Blood froze in Sarah's veins. People knew one or the other name, not both of them. How was possible that she went from searching for Carmichael to finding Chuck? How was any of that possible?

"If I could take a few minutes of your time so you answer my questions," Dunham went on.

"You don't ask him anything," Sarah said, putting herself in front of Chuck, like a good bodyguard would. "In fact, you don't ask. Period."

"Excuse me, I'm leading a federal investigation." Dunham's eyes were telegraphing "murder."

Chuck touched Sarah's shoulder tentatively. "A federal investi- What's happening, Sarah?"

"Nothing. Don't talk. Don't say _anything_. You hear me?"

He nodded. A lock of hair fell over his left eye. Sarah fought the urge to style it. Or slap him. Or take his face between her hands and kiss him. Or throw him at the ground and...

Walter Bishop suddenly showing up from nowhere cut her train of thoughts. Sarah heard Chuck groan and when she turned around she caught his flash face, that unmistakable expression of somebody who was holding back a sneeze as he had an orgasm. Chuck doubled up before it finished. A bad flash, one that flooded his parietal and frontal lobes with too much information.

"Is he all right?" Dunham asked.

Sarah didn't answer. Instead, she dragged Chuck a few feet away and let him caught his breath. She caressed his hair absently as he recovered, bent down. She took a look at the feds meanwhile. Walter Bishop was gaping at them. After several blinks he turned towards Dunham and tugged on her sleeve to tell her something, like a child high on _speed_. She raised her hand to silence him. He tried again. His son Peter put his hands on his father's shoulders and calmed him down. Walter's expression changed to frustration, then to ire, then to impotence until he ended up sulking.

Chuck straightened up again, resting his hand on Sarah's shoulder to keep his balance. He was awfully pale.

"Did you flash on the man?" she asked in the softer tone she could.

"Doctor Walter Bishop," he said as an answer.

"Are you all right?"

Chuck managed a weak nod. "It's just... You know that I hate needles." Chuck gulped. "He likes them very much, apparently."

Unaware (or maybe aware but uncaring) of their temporary need for a break, Dunham approached them, a light frown darkening her expression.

"I'm sorry to disturb, but we're trying to solve a crime and you could help us."

"A crime?" Chuck asked, before Sarah could stop him, kicking his shin.

"Ten people that disappeared from a suburban area called Meadow's Branch and were found death. You lived there, didn't you?" Dunham waited for their answer. They gave her none. "Look, it's my duty to interrogate you."

"Really?" Sarah retorted. "I have questions of my own, like how the hell did you get to us?"

Dunham blinked, indifferent. "I don't have to tell you that."

"Then I don't have to answer your silly questions."

Dunham narrowed her eyes. "You'll be hindering a federal investigation. That's a crime."

That had to be a bad joke. Sarah faced the FBI agent, taking advantage of her small height superiority to look imposing. "Look, sweetheart, I don't care if you-"

"We'll guide you to our headquarters," Casey cut her short.

Sarah turned to her teammate, who was now at her side. "_What?_"

"Beckman's orders," Casey whispered into her ear. He sent her a cautionary glare, then addressed the Fringe Division. "You've been authorized to receive information about what happened in Meadow's Branch."

Dunham's triumphant beam churned Sarah's stomach.

* * *

><p>Things were settled fast enough, with the efficiency that everybody supposed to the big government agencies and they were proud of, even if the reality was otherwise most of the time.<p>

But first, Dunham needed to call her boss. It didn't mind that Sarah and Casey told her they already knew about her division, she said she needed his superior's permission to disclose her work. As if he was her freaking dad or something.

Dunham and her colleagues agreed to follow Sarah's car on their own. Casey would get to them on the CIA van. Since Sarah's car only had two seats, there was the problem of who will go with Casey and who to carry with her: Cole or Chuck. Sarah didn't have any problem taking Chuck with her. Chuck, on the other hand, decided to be a gentleman and let Cole go on her car, because he was injured and a hero and a real James Bond and worthy of her attention. Sarah would have ripped a new hole in him.

When they reached their destination, the parking lot of Burbank's mall, Dunham got out the car with an evident expression of puzzlement.

"I thought we were going to your headquarters," she commented.

Sarah rolled her eyes and helped Cole to stand up, instead of answering her. Beckman didn't order to be obliging to the FBI agent.

"You are very attractive when you get angry," Cole told her.

Sarah ignored him too. This was more difficult, because she had her arm around his waist and he was leaning on her shoulders.

"Please, come," Chuck asked to the Fringe Division and canted his head to show them the right direction.

Casey smacked the back of Chuck's head and hissed "Shut up."

Dunham's bewilderment raised a hundred percent when they stopped at the _Orange Orange_. When she saw Sarah opening the door with her own key she couldn't hold back her question: "Why do you have a key of this place?"

Casey grunted and smirked. "She's a clerk here."

Trust Casey to tell anybody that her cover job was to serve fro-yos. She should stop calling that to frozen yogurt. This stupid job was getting to her.

"It's a nice cover," Peter Bishop said. He was stifling a laugh.

"At least I don't sell microwaves to yahoos," Sarah replied and showed her teeth to Casey.

"But this is great," Chuck entered into the conversation, as eager to help as usual. "You have all the frozen yogurt you can eat. And for free."

"You say that as if it's a good thing," the young Bishop said.

"Oh, oh!" Doctor Bishop cried. "I want a taste!"

"Walter, no," his son answered.

"A small one."

"We don't have time," Dunham explained.

Sarah stared at the doctor's excited face as he begged. This man had taught in Harvard. She had never seen him, because he was already at the psychiatric hospital when she entered college, but he was a legend there. Harvard was her _alma mater. _A former professor deserved her respect.

She sighed and handed Cole over to Casey. "Please, lead him to the infirmary," she told her partner.

"No, I'd rather stay with you," the English man said.

"It would take me a moment. It's best if you rest."

"C'mon, Romeo," Casey grumbled as he dragged Cole with him.

Sarah walked towards the yogurt dispenser machine. "Do you like cream?" she asked the doctor. He nodded. "Cream is not that bad, even for a fro-yo." She filled a tub in front of everybody's astonished expression. "Some chocolate chips?"

"Yes, please."

Sarah complied with the attentive smile she faked for the customers. Except this time it was a real one. "Here you go. Double portion of chocolate chips." She stuck the plastic spoon on the cream and gave it to the doctor.

Walter Bishop took it with very bright eyes. He looked exactly like a child in an amusement park. Sarah couldn't help smiling.

When she passed next to Chuck she noticed the way he was looking at her. Sympathy. Sarah chose to bury the contradictory feelings that it provoked in her.

Sarah led the group to the cold-storage chamber.

"You're going to kill us and hide our bodies here. Is that it?" Peter Bishop said.

"What? No!" Chuck cried. "That's—that's horrible! Tell them, Sarah."

She didn't. She silently let the security screen on the wall scan her eye and open Castle's door. She went in without looking back. Casey was already in the meeting room.

She heard the rest of the group walking behind her.

"You have a secret base under the shop?" Dunham said, a bit unsure.

Peter Bishop gasped as if he had been submerged into frozen water. He came back running, almost tripping over a step, and blocked Sarah's path. "I knew it! I knew that the _Orange Orange_ stores were a cover for the CIA." He opened his arms as if to encircle the entire Castle. "Who opens a frozen yogurt shop in Afghanistan?"

"I've heard it's a good place for new businesses," Sarah said, her face straight. Casey snorted.

She put her hand on the young Bishop's chest and pushed him lightly to put herself next to Casey.

"Are all the clerks in the double Os spies?" Peter Bishop asked.

"That is classified information," Beckman answered.

Everybody looked at the screen. The General was already on, her usual judgmental face more evident than usual.

Doctor Bishop and his son greeted her raising a hand. "Who are you?" Peter asked.

"General Diane Beckman, head of the NSA," Dunham reported. Her voice was tinged with suppressed dislike.

"She looks familiar. Does she have a sister?"

Dunham looked at Peter Bishop and some kind of silent joke seemed to pass between them.

Beckman extended her arm in front of her. "Take a seat, please."

The two teams sat down facing each other, at opposite sides of the table.

"Agent Dunham, Doctor Bishop, Mister Bishop," Beckman greeted the Fringe Division one by one. Each of them nodded as an answer. "It is unfortunate we meet in such chaotic circumstances."

"It's unfortunate how we met or that we met _at all_?" Dunham asked.

"I'm not going to lie. I prefer my clandestine teams clandestine." The General cracked a small smirk before growing serious again. "I've already talked with your superior, agent Dunham, to settle our little agreement."

Dunham stroked her lips with her index and middle fingers in a gesture of concern. "By my superior you mean..."

"Special Agent Phillip Broyles."

Dunham sighed relieved. Sarah made a note of that. This little piece of knowledge could be helpful in the future.

"We've agreed, he and I, that we will reveal to you what happened in Meadow's Branch and how, exactly, those ten people died," Beckman said. "In return, we expect your cooperation and discretion. But first, let's hear your involvement in this case, to put us in the picture."

Dunham took a moment to ponder. Then she stood up and crossed her hands at her back in a military fashion. "We work in the Fringe Division, a Joint Federal Task Force of the FBI in charge of investigating criminal cases dealing with the known as _fringe_ science."

"Like what?" Chuck asked.

Dunham shrugged. "Mind control, teleportation, astral projection, invisibility, genetic mutation..."

"That's so cool," he said. He was smiling. The smile faltered when he glanced at Sarah. "Weird, but cool," he rephrased it lamely.

"This week we received the case of a common grave with ten corpses discovered in L.A.," Dunham continued, taking no notice of him. "They didn't show any trace of violence and there didn't seem to be a medical condition for their death."

"And just for that the FBI transferred the case to your division?" Sarah asked.

"It's not the first time that something like this happens. In fact, it's not the weirdest thing I've seen lately."

"Are these things usual? So much as to create a special division for them?" Sarah had always been a skeptic, but what she was hearing made her hair stand on end.

Dunham faltered.

"With the development of science in our days, it's more and more usual to meet events that can't be explained by the usual methods," the young Bishop elaborated for her. He stared at his teammate and nodded.

"The FBI created our specialized unit to solve these cases faster and more efficiently," Dunham added.

"You call it The Pattern," Beckman pointed out.

The three members of Fringe Division stared at her, almost gawking.

"I'm the Director of the NSA," Beckman said matter-of-factly.

"Ah... yes." Dunham cleared her throat, visibly taken aback. "That's our primary task. We investigate something called The Pattern. A series of incredible happenings only explainable by fringe science, that seem to be the work of man and follow a possible, yet undisclosed plan."

"And you thought that the corpses in L.A. were part of it," Sarah guessed.

"Yes, it seemed to fit." The FBI agent fell silent. Then nodded, once. Then sat down again with her arms crossed. "Your turn."

"You didn't tell us how you found us," Sarah said.

"Later. First, I want to hear what you have to say."

If it were up to her, Sarah would have snapped her neck, but Beckman had ordered them to disclose their mission. That's why she decided the General herself should give the explanations. As it seemed, Casey thought the same, because he didn't open his mouth.

"Agent Walker and Major Casey are a special task unit, a cooperation between the CIA and the NSA, under the DNI command, with the mission of investigating, detecting and eliminating the threat caused by a terrorist group called Fulcrum," Beckman said, once she realized her agents wouldn't speak.

Dunham glanced at Sarah. "Fulcrum. I've never heard of them."

"They are a very specialized counterespionage unit, trained to infiltrate and attack the NSA and, above all, the CIA," the General described.

"So you decided to treat it as an internal problem, instead of warning the FBI about their existence."

"There was no need to trouble your agency when Fulcrum is a very localized threat." Beckman gave a hint of a smile. "We can manage. And the President thinks the same."

Dunham reacted to the last words with a soft snort. "OK, let's not argue about jurisdiction and how everything you're telling me is a big pile of... debatable matters. How does that have anything to do with those agents' death?"

"They were Fulcrum," Casey answered.

Sarah fought the urge to gape at him. Since when did Major Casey offer explanations to anybody? Even Chuck leaned back on his seat to take a better look at him.

Casey noticed he was being the center of attention. He emitted grunt number twenty five: _Leave me alone_.

It seemed he wasn't going to say anything more, so it was up to Sarah to elaborate. "We infiltrated a cell they had established in Meadow's Branch."

"What was their objective?"

Sarah let the General explain that bit: "Fulcrum's primary mission is to get the Intersect by any means necessary."

"Ah, the Intersect. The top secret project."

"Yes. We aren't authorized to tell you much about it, only that it entails the preparation of a new kind of field agent that would speed up and facilitate the intelligence service's work."

The young Bishop reacted to this, with sudden realization. "The Intersect is a person, not a device?"

Sarah, Casey and Beckman exchanged glances. Chuck focused on his hands.

"No, the Intersect is the device," the General said at last. "The project is about getting a working computer that could allow us to achieve that goal."

"All right..." Dunham seemed anything but convinced. "What were those Fulcrum agents doing in Meadow's Branch? Were they planning to assault Langley or something?"

"No. They were developing, _and_ testing, their own Intersect."

"In the suburban area."

"Yes."

Dunham pursed her lips. "I think I've been too much in this job, because that doesn't surprise me," she murmured. "Anyway... What were you saying?"

Beckman arched a brow. She seemed slightly miffed by their guests' interruptions. "These Fulcrum agents were testing their version of the Intersect that, of course, didn't work."

Dunham looked at Casey.

"For now, the Intersect is just a project, a bunch of circuits and fancy lights that do nothing," he explained.

"Except driving people nuts," she pointed out.

Casey shrugged nonchalantly.

"The Fulcrum agents discovered and apprehended our infiltrated team," Beckman redirected the conversation.

"Agent Carmichael and Walker," Dunham said, interrupting Beckman again.

"Yes. They were captured to be subject of an experimental session of their Intersect."

"Like Philip Yeager was, I gather."

Sarah felt impressed. This FBI agent had done her homework.

"That's the reason why he's in a Psychiatric Hospital now," Dunham went on.

"Do you want to finish the account for us?" Beckman answered back.

The FBI agent's shoulders sagged. "No, Ma'am."

"Good." Beckman cleared her throat. "Fulcrum captured agents Carmichael and Walker. Fortunately, Major Casey came in time to rescue them. Unfortunately, the only way to do so was to activate Fulcrum's Intersect. The Fulcrum agents received a full download of the information that was in their computer, killing them instantly."

Dunham leaned back with her arms crossed. She pointed at Sarah with a thumb. "How did they survive?"

"We closed our eyes," Chuck answered.

Sarah sent him a warning glare. He shrank.

"Okay," Dunham said. She seemed slightly disoriented. "Whatever. Then you decided to cover up for the Fulcrum agents' deaths, telling their families they died in an accident, and that their bodies were lost."

"Given the circumstances, we thought it was for the best," Beckman said.

"The best for whom?"

"For everybody." The General cocked her head with her brow arched, in that perfect imitation of a primary school teacher of hers. "Would you rather tell them that their children or siblings or nieces were traitors and they were killed for the good of the country?"

Something akin to pity crossed Dunham's features and made her drop her head. Her jaw was clenched hard.

"Let it be, agent Dunham," Beckman went on. "Those people are dead and you can't do anything to change that."

Doctor Bishop reacted to this and raised his hand. His son shushed him.

"I hope this clears the doubts you could have, agent."

She did a weak nod, still head bowed.

"Good. I must retire now, I have an important meeting." Beckman turned her palms to the ceiling as a sign of apology. "Agent Walker and Major Casey will tie up the loose ends."

As usual, the General cut off the communication without further ceremony. That left six people alone in a room with an atmosphere that not even a chainsaw could slice.

This was the kind of situation where Chuck used to shine. "And what happens now?" he said.

"They tell us what clues they followed to find us so we fix the leaks and after that, they go back to Boston," Sarah answered. She was more than eager to lose sight of the feds and their uncomfortable questions.

"Not until we resolve the case," Dunham said, her former dejection vanished.

Sarah blinked. She didn't hear it right. She couldn't have heard it right. "Excuse me?"

Dunham moved forward and rested her elbows on the table. "I'll pursue this investigation until the very end."

"You were here to find out how those people died. We already told you."

"Yes, but not why they died, and I suspect that the reason why they did is still going on."

"No, we told you." Was she speaking a different language, maybe?

"Why was Bradley White's body exhumed?" Dunham asked suddenly.

"I don't know-"

"Bradley White. He has been dug up and his body bag opened. That's why we discovered the common grave." She brought her fingertips together and away several times. "I guess it wasn't the CIA, because you would have buried him again."

Casey made a gesture with his hand to Sarah to let him speak. "The man who was with us, the Brit, he's a MI6 agent. He snatched something from Brad's belt. A chip with information about the project Fulcrum was developing in Meadow's Branch."

"But now is in our hands, so no problem," Sarah added in a hurry. "Mission's over."

"The project in Meadow's Branch," Dunham repeated. "Fulcrum's Intersect. Which doesn't work."

"That's it."

"Just like _our_ Intersect."

"Bingo."

"Then why was that woman asking who the Intersect was before we rescued you?"

_You didn't rescue us, bitch, _Sarah thought outraged.

"And she was searching for a person, not a computer," the young Bishop entered into the conversation. "The English and Charlie here claimed to be the Intersect."

"I'd rather if you call me Chuck..." His voice faded at Sarah's glare. "I'm shutting up."

"It was part of a trap we set to catch them," Sarah lied. She put in motion that side of her brain that could create the most believable lies. "We lured them with false information that said we already had an agent with the Intersect in his head."

"And that agent was... Chuck?" Dunham pointed at him.

"In reality I-I don't have the Intersect," Chuck hurried up to state.

"But he just did it," Walter retorted out of the blue.

"Did what?" Chuck asked, panicking.

"W-when he looked at me the first time, the... the computer in his head, the Intersect, recalled my file. How was the process called?" The Doctor snapped his fingers. "He had a memory, a burst, a zoom-"

"A flash," Chuck chimed in.

"Chuck!" Sarah yelled.

"I'm sorry! I just-" He flailed his arms wildly to express his impotency.

"So we are right," Dunham said. She was almost beaming. "When you're talking about the Intersect, you aren't talking about the computer, you're talking about a person." She looked from tip to toe at Chuck. "_He_ is the Intersect. A working, human Intersect."

Rage and fear and frustration pushed Sarah forward. Nobody, much less a smart-ass cop, was going to put her mission, her job and Chuck at risk. "This is enough. You've heard enough! We're not talking anymore. Instead, you're going to tell us how you found him."

Dunham leaned back and crossed her arms. She knew she called the shots.

"That's easy. Through his father," doctor Bishop answered with the happy tone of somebody who had discovered a coin in his old jeans' pockets.

The FBI agent turned to him with a fierce expression of alarm. She didn't like his slip.

"My father?" Chuck frowned. "What does he have to do with anything?"

Walter Bishop ignored Dunham's gesticulations. "Who could be a better source to know about the Intersect than its creator's son?"

Sarah needed five full seconds to comprehend those words. They created such a void inside her head that it forced her to use a considerable amount of willpower to string data together in a coherent idea; an idea that once formed was so shocking, so tremendous, that threatened with liquefying her brain. Chuck's father was the creator of the Intersect.

She turned her head toward him so fast that little stars filled her visual field for a moment.

His face seemed a shroud and he was still, so very still, that Sarah feared he had stopped living, until he asked with a weak voice that was hardly audible: "What... what did you say?"


End file.
